Compass
by lachlanrose
Summary: The morning after. In love and out of step. A revealing look at how the Wolverine and the Rogue find equilibrium again after several weeks apart. W/R


**Title: **Compass  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> It's probably a good thing they aren't mine. I'm not sure even the Wolverine could keep up. Heh.  
><strong>Feedback: <strong> Lay it on me! The good. The bad. The ugly, welcome… Flames may be lit on fire and publicly mocked.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> The morning after. In love and out of step. A revealing look at how the Wolverine and the Rogue find equilibrium again after several weeks apart. W/R  
><strong>Author's notes: <strong>Another citrusy little one-shot. Y'all know me and how much I love those stories that move forward and reveal the characters through those intimate slice-of-life sort of moments when people are real with each other. The usual warnings apply. Blah blah, adult story for an adult audience. _You have been warned!_ This one slots into the _Shine_ universe. I realize it's just not right to add a companion story when the first one isn't even done… but what the Wolverine wants, the Wolverine gets, bub. Onward!

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><p><strong>Compass<strong>

Euphoria. He's comin' home today. Five weeks, three days and this morning. An eternity. I think I spent the whole morning at the window, watching the twisting gravel drive, hoping for a glimpse of his bike and jiggling in anticipation, unable to keep still even for a minute. It's the first time we've been apart so long since the night I came to him and claimed him for my own.

Tonight, he would sleep under this roof. Our house would have its master back. The Rogue would have her Wolverine, too. The knowledge both excited me and settled something deep inside me. When he's here... it's just this feeling that all is right with the world, that everything is as it should be. I've never felt such peace.

I heard the low, bass rumble of the bike before I saw it. Felt it vibrate down deep. Sunlight glinting off chrome. I could see it through the trees. Heard the crunch of gravel as he turned up the long drive. The ringing silence as he cut the engine. That delicious feelin' of expectation swelled.

Even before I heard the scrape of the gate, I was dashing outside... running to him. Throwin' myself in his arms like a kid and peppering his face with kisses. He gave me his disapproving expression even though his eyes were twinkling and I could tell he was enjoyin' the fact I simply couldn't rein in my joy at his arrival.

"Not here. Inside." His stern voice. It was the emotion he didn't want on display. The Wolverine didn't give a shit about public kisses. Or ass grabs. Or even sex, in the right mood.

But then he laughed and swung me around, giving me that superior look he has as I clung to him like a little monkey. He didn't even put me down. Pack in one hand and a bunch of wildflowers in the other, he simply strode inside, dropped them by the door and continued straight up to our bedroom where we made rough wild love like two playful kittens who absolutely could not keep from pouncing a single moment longer. There was scratching and biting, growling and hissing, lapping... _kneading_. I think he even purred.

God knows I did.

The aftermath made us both laugh. There were clothes strewn all over the room, throw pillows scattered across the floor, the sheets were ripped away from one corner of the mattress and we'd knocked over one of the lamps by the bed. The air reeked of sex. There was come everywhere. I was red raw and grinning like an idiot. His wild hair was all rucked up and he was sweaty and panting as he flopped back against the pillows with an obscene groan of masculine satisfaction. He still had one sock half on, the end of which dangled from his foot like a limp noodle.

"Whoa." I giggled at him and he swatted my rump with the flat of his hand, sighing contentedly as he pulled me down beside his big sprawling form. I covered his moist sticky penis with my hand and gave it a gentle pull as I sighed too. My Wolverine. He is so very fine. Even in utter contented disarray. Maybe especially then. I kissed his shoulder and let my eyes wander down his body. He looked a little too smug at my obvious appreciation so I fluttered my eyes at him and teased. "You're such a hunk, sugar," I moaned dramatically and fell over on bed next to him.

He snorted. "A hunk of what?"

I erupted into fits of giggles. His answer was wry, so..._Logan_. Or so I thought until I caught the playful glitter in his eyes. What did I tell you? He is the original phasmid.

He was also just a simple man, weary from his trip and glad to be back to his home, his hearth, and his woman. I think he was probably glad to be back to his own bed as well, though he didn't say so. He just sank deeper into the soft covers and closed his eyes, sprawled out in a position of utter relaxation. And shamelessly hogging most of the bed. Nothing new there. But whereas our lovemaking had sapped the last of his reserves, at least for the moment, it had energized me. I felt boneless and my muscles ached but I wasn't the least bit tired. A soft snore came from his side of the bed.

I smothered a laugh and whispered into his ear, "Welcome home, cowboy."

His eye cracked open and he stroked my arm gently with just the tip of his finger. It was a touched infused with so much feeling. His eyes closed. And then he smiled. "I want the better n'sex cake for dinner." And then, just when I thought he had fallen back asleep, he murmured. "...and _you_ for dessert." He chuckled sleepily and turned over, rubbing his face against the covers like a tired little boy.

I pulled the dangling sock from his foot and covered him with a blanket. "Big talk for a man who was snorin' not two minutes ago."

My soft teasing fell on deaf ears; he had already fallen back to sleep. I smiled down at him. His quiet request had warmed my heart. He missed the flavors and the comforts of his home. I turned out the light but left the window open. He likes to feel the cool air on his face as he sleeps... and I wanted him rested. I was looking forward to sharing a meal with him, but as for that dessert he spoke of? I fully intended to have a second helping. And quite possibly a third as well.

**~ooOoo~**

Downstairs, I couldn't help but smile. We hadn't even shut the front door. It was wide open and the whole house smelled of crisp fall air. His pack was on its side in the front hall. The fragrant bunch of wildflowers lay beside it, gathered from somewhere along the way. It was early fall and the small bouquet reflected the change in the seasons. It was more decorative grasses and dried seed pods than lush spring flowers. Logan's not a romantic, but he's got a love of nature that spills over in unexpected ways. He's got quite an appetite for sex, as well. I thought of him spent and sleeping upstairs and couldn't keep from smiling. Though, I suppose the lingering feel of him under my clothes and his scent on my skin may have had something to do with it too.

Dinner was fun. Dessert was better. We spent a passionate evening reacquainting ourselves as new lovers so often do. We shared a night under the stars outside by the fire pit, curled up together, sharing a bottle of good bourbon and touching each other intimately. We talked and made love and rested and fooled around some more and then collapsed into bed, tipsy and exhausted.

I think he made love to me again some time during the night, though the details are kinda hazy. I was so sleepy; both from the bourbon and from the aftermath of his passion. I remember feelin' the bed dip as he got up and hearin' the stairs creak and then the unmistakable splashing sound of a man relieving himself. I remember smiling. We'd had a lot to drink.

The next thing I remember was the feel of him juddering next to me in the bed and hearin' that low grunt he makes when he's deep inside his own pleasure. And my body. I could feel him throbbing there, spooned up behind me, fitted together as intimately as a man and woman can be. I remember falling back to sleep with his hand in mine and feel of rightness in my breast; a feeling of peace so deep it defies words.

The morning, however, was a different matter entirely. He was dead to the world. Didn't even stir when I got up to go to the bathroom. Golden sunlight streamed into our small bedroom, falling across the crisp white sheets- that he'd shoved down in the night, revealing one powerful leg from toes to thigh and the rounded curve of his impressive backside. I smothered a laugh at the lipstick he was sporting on his left cheek, the bite mark was healed, of course, but the telltale smear of red told a different story. He was on his stomach with one leg drawn up just high enough that I could see the dark swell of his scrotum in the shadowy cleft between his legs.

Just that quickly, desire coiled heavy and low in my belly. At first I just watched him, unaware I'd put a hand between my legs, not rubbing. Pressing. Longing. Wantin' so sharply it felt like a physical ache. I was empty and I wanted to feel that fullness only Logan can make me feel. Crawling on the bed, I kissed his golden shoulder and he squirmed as my hair tickled along his side. He turned over, mostly to get away from the tickle, I think.

Everywhere the sun touched his skin, he seemed to glow. Every freckle, mole, imperfection... every strand of hair, every whorl and crease... they were luminous in that magical way that happens when the early mornin' sun hits them just right. I could also see every bruise and scratch and bite I'd left, even though they'd healed too. The making of them was etched into my memory, just like the ones he'd left on my body.

He made a nearly inaudible sleepy-annoyed sound and rubbed at his nipple absently before throwin' an arm over his eyes to block out the brilliant patch of sunlight falling over his face and shoulders. Most of his chest was in shadow but his groin and one leg were directly in the sunlight. I wondered if he could feel the heat on his exposed flesh. He was semi erect, on the way to the full erection he wakes up with most mornings. Nature— isn't it wonderful?

I propped my chin in my palm and just looked at him. Had he opened his eyes and caught me, I wouldn't have been embarrassed. I think his body is beautiful. To be honest, he and I had spent many long hours appreciating the differences between us, both in flesh and bone as well as in our more mercurial qualities.

He shifted slightly. Dust motes swirled and glittered in the air. I could smell him. Musk and earth and salt. I leaned in closer, studying the way the dark hairs curled around his base and following the faint tracing of veins in the thick shaft. The moist pink head was peeping from the skin at his tip. Not weeping fluid. But then it wouldn't be. He wasn't aroused. It was a mechanical erection. A response hardwired into his physiology. And I'd been right about his lovemaking in the night. He had come recently. My thighs were glazed with it when I woke.

It made me smile. So did watching his erection. It bobbed lightly with his heartbeat. I could feel it, a rhythm that throbbed between my legs. For him it wasn't sexual. For me, it was.

The desire building in me spiraled higher. I felt hot. Itchy. Needy. Hungry. I reached out a hand and stroked him in an unmistakably sexual way. Not in tender comfort. Not in physical appreciation. In _want_.

The rhythm of his breathin' changed as he woke. He grunted softly. I looked up and found him watching me with hooded eyes. He did not look aroused. His expression was somewhere between amusement and annoyance. I stilled my hand, thinking he would simply fall back to sleep, but I was too aroused to drift off. At least, not without having an orgasm first. I wondered what he would think of he woke and found me touching myself next to him in bed? It was a thought that made me smile inwardly but instead, I sighed wistfully – and perhaps even with a bit of frustration- and withdrew my hand.

He caught my wrist in his steel grip, still breathing slow and even. Just laying there, watching me. No doubt seeing the sex flush on my skin and probably noting the other signs of my arousal as well. The Wolverine missed nothing. I shifted uncomfortably, wantin' more but aware he really wasn't in the mood. And damn him if he didn't scoot back a little against the headboard and smirk knowingly at me. He can be _so_ arrogant. I felt my arousal spiral higher.

He absently stroked my hip with his palm but other than that, he remained still. He knew I wanted sex. I could tell he felt lazy. He wouldn't say no if I initiated it, but he wasn't about to do anything more than lie there. For long moments, we simply held steady, staring at each other. And then his languid smile got wider.

"You want me?" My face heated at his words- but despite that, desire spiked in me, hard and piercing. I felt myself nodding. "Use me then." He looked down at the erection laying hard and thick against his belly. His eyes flicked back up to mine. "Lemme watch ya."

I think I whimpered. I know I did when I sat down on him. Hard. Even with the residue of the previous night's lovemaking, I felt that moment that is so distinctly feminine, that little frisson of almost-nausea when it's too deep too fast, a heartbeat before your body softens in welcome. He made no sound. His breathing didn't even change. He simply stretched his strong arms above his head, leisurely grasping the wooden slats of our headboard in a way that clearly said he wasn't about to aid me and he cocked his head. There was a bit of a challenge there too as he waited for me to move.

"Pleasure yourself." He blinked slowly. Arrogantly. "Not many women have been allowed that chance on me."

_Many?_ I felt a prick of jealousy that only fueled the fire burnin' in me. It made me want to move. His words blew apart the last of my reservations and I rose and fell on him hard, using him as he'd offered. I felt a heavy powerful man lying passively under my spread thighs. Felt his big cock between my legs, stretching me. And I used both to stimulate myself in a way that was only about my pleasure. My orgasm.

I felt wild, out of control. I can only imagine what he saw as he lay there, detached, just watching me use his body to make mine feel so good. For a time, he watched my face. Watched my neck arch and my breasts bounce as I rode him. It got wilder. More intense as I got closer and closer to that elusive release. Sweating. Straining. Gasping as I rode too hard and not hard enough. Hating and loving those moments when the buzz made me pull away when I all I wanted was more of everything.

He was watching where we were joined. Watching me grind down hard until you couldn't tell his pubic hair from mine and then he would stare intently as his fat cock emerged, wet and glistening before I took him in again. And again. And still, he didn't move. I couldn't stand it any longer. Dropping my hands from my body, I put them on the bed on either side of his shoulders and ground down in tight hard circles until I was no longer chasing the blast but ridin' it. Crying out my pleasure as I contracted around that thick column of flesh buried so deeply inside me. Wondering with some far away part of my brain how it felt to him even as I selfishly rocked against him, seeking to prolong the pleasure as long as I could.

I whimpered when it was over, suddenly aware I was gulping for breath and that my body was slick with sweat and passion. As the rush of powerful euphoria faded, I felt shy and vulnerable. I'd never done anything like that in my life. Raising myself on shaky arms, I met his eyes. Something dark and feral smoldered there. He still wasn't movin' but he was no longer sleepy or detached.

He touched me then for the first time, putting both of his big hands on my hips possessively. It was only a simple touch but it screamed of want. I almost smiled. A few minutes ago, it was me who wanted and him who was sleepy and lethargic. Now it was the other way around. But who says lovers have to come together to make it good? I wanted to give him what he'd just given me.

I brushed my lips against his and felt him flex inside me, hard and wanting. "Use me, Logan. Whatever you want. However you want." That dark look in his eyes became a seething rolling hunger. "Only you." I'd never say that to anyone but him and he knew it.

I had no warning. He blinked. Just once. And then flipped us suddenly, pulling out as he knelt up over me. I gasped at the sensation of being uncoupled from him so quickly, but he paid me as little mind as I'd paid him. He simply pushed my legs to my chest and jerked himself a few times with his big hand, maybe because he wanted a moment just to see me spread and open for him, maybe because it just felt good. I didn't ask. He wouldn't have answered anyway.

He simply pushed in with a deep groan, dropped his head and started thrusting. Not trying to stay within any appreciable rhythm. Not trying to give pleasure. Not even trying to hold back for the sake of appearance. Just a man moving how it felt best for him, in his time, on his terms. Not trying to impress anyone by lasting a long time. Not caring if he only lasted a few minutes. It was all about him. His grunts got louder. He simply held me down and moved in a way that was only about his pleasure. Gratification without inhibition.

Tears prickled in my eyes as his thick fingers tangled in my hair and pulled hard. So close. He froze for a moment and then shuddered hard as he spilled into me, growlin' a string of profanities into my ear. Now I knew what had fired him so. Seeing that moment— detached from the experience itself was incredibly erotic. A shockingly intimate thing to witness and to share.

He made this soft sound in his throat and collapsed against me, letting me feel his full weight for a moment before he rolled off with little ceremony, except for that bit where he wouldn't let go of my hand. He didn't close his eyes. I didn't either. We just lay there on our sides, breathing together, sharing both vulnerability and intimacy.

I felt so close to him.

It was terrifying in a way that makes you wonder if you can die of love.

It wasn't a typical homecoming, but it was us. Finding the way back. Finding a way forward.

Together.

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><p>Feedback is love.<p>

**Author's note:** So yeah. My WolverineMuse is clearly still bangin' the same (smutty) drum. heh. See what I did there? I'm still working away on multiple stories. I found _another_ one last night that I'd forgotten I'd even started. It's called _Glass_. lol Gold star to anyone who can guess the reason why…

I wrote another chapter of Sanctuary, so now we're looking at least four and possibly five chapters. (For the love of Pete, please let it _just_ be five! Please!) Ahem. Sorry… Up next, in addition to more Shine (when my WolverineMuse is done entertaining himself with other smutty pursuits) and possibly more of Other Ways of Speaking, we'll have:

**Sanctuary  
><strong>A girl alone on a snowy road needs a ride. She offers up the only thing she has of value to trade: herself. An alternative look at how Rogue's first meeting with the Wolverine might have gone if she'd had to talk her way into his truck instead of hiding in his trailer. W/R AU (4 chapters? 5? 6? [whimper])

For those of you who wanted to read '_Winter_' (Logan's favorite story of Marie's in _Shine_) this one is damn close. I didn't do it on purpose, but I realized after that it pretty much hit the mark.

**Walk the Line  
><strong>Marie comes back after taking the Cure. "She'd always defend him though, even now – powerless and helpless, and they both knew it. It didn't even need saying. The care of this beautiful man was written in her bones." 9 chapters (at least 4 more to go)

See? Still clearly certifiable!


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